Hosa

Written with Anirudh Suresan

The first ever Hosa was (and is) a big deal in Goa. A frequenter of best restaurant lists in India and worldwide. A restaurant that you have heard about before making your bookings and has you determined on snagging a seat.

Why, then, did I feel slightly surprised by the Gurugram outlet at One Horizon Centre? Have I lived in Delhi too long? Where are the weird sculptural bits in corners? The bizarro bar fixtures? The dim lighting that makes me droop from sexy drunk to sleepy drunk?

Pertinent, perhaps, to mention that I’m at Hosa in the midst of what seems like one of the city’s very intense culinary trends. This time, it’s South Indian food. Nadoo’s leading the charge on the fine-dining front. Benne Dosa’s still boasting (suffering?) humungous queues outside its first Delhi branch. Gems like Mahabelly and Swagath, of course, don’t care a toss about trends when they’re chockablock full every night without much or any marketing fanfare. 

It turns out that Hosa’s one of those cool customers.  Beyond the unobtrusive palm motifs (pleasantly reminiscent of Good Earth, or perhaps its spiritual successor, Nicobar), Hosa’s utterly devoid of visual gimmicks that may, if you’re with boring company, provide ample kindling for conversation. In other words, this is a gently classy place. 

What does that mean, in Delhi-speak? That the focus – the diner’s and the chef’s – is zeroed in on the food. 

The menu’s robust but not excessive. An excellent sign. The entire thing’s a love affair with India’s coast – a pork curry, mushroom varuval, brain pepper roast. Lots and LOTS of fish, but also, lots and lots of vegetarian options that aren’t your classic dosa/idli thank-you-very-much excuses. For the review, we’re offered half portions of whatever titillates us most, and for that, our stomachs are thankful. They’ve also got a fairly extensive bar programme. 

I find that much of the self-assured atmosphere is helped along by the staff: the manager is seeing to all tables individually, the chef has calmly surmised that we are here to eat and has recommended dishes without any uhming and aahing, and the bartender has done some sort of complicated flow-chart in his head (savoury or sweet? White liquor or whiskey? Blackout drunk or tipsy?) to find the right drinks for everyone.

Given that we’re being served halves of everything, I’m immediately blown away by the portion size. This is an expensive restaurant, but you know how it normally goes: the pricier the tag, the daintier the portion. Thankfully, Hosa’s not stingy. There is more than enough food on every plate. I can’t say the same for other South Indian restaurants of the newer crop charging about the same amount. 

Pretty much everything we sample here’s stupidly good. The flavours seem elevated, somehow – cleaner, fresher than any kind of South Indian fare in Delhi that I’m used to. A friendly balance struck between spice and richness. None of the hotter dishes have my mouth on fire. The creamier ones don’t have me suspecting my stomach later. There is an elegance in the whole thing that’s immediately obvious. To all, evidently; the place is pleasingly full on a Wednesday night. And no raucous kitty parties unfolding either. A nice surprise.

Of the small plates, the mutton kari dosa’s the standout, and one of my favourites of the night. Minced mutton atop a slightly thick dosa, with a tangy gravy poured around. The whole thing’s christened by a poached egg. An Eggs Benedict has nothing on this, in any competition. A must-get dish. 

The toddy shop prawns are another sturdy choice, made South-style, with coconut, curry leaf, all the usual suspects. The karwar fried fish is a pretty regular rava-fried fish. The fillets are appropriately paper-thin. The rava batter isn’t monstrously heavy. 

A very fun palate cleanser is also available to diners who tend to feel mildly sick after stuffing their faces with apps – such as ourselves. It’s a green mango sorbet that does a lot more heavy lifting than a palate cleanser typically requires. Brilliant flavours. I’d order this as a dessert any day. 

My other favourite of the night can be found in the large plates in the form of the prawn gassi. It’s startlingly good. A gassi, if you really look at it, is a pretty standard combination of flavours found across countless dishes in the Indian subcontinent, but the one here tastes inexplicably superior. The coconut isn’t overpowering, there’s a tanginess to it that I can’t get enough of, and the neer dosa it’s served with is so papery soft that it melts in my mouth. The plate’s wiped clean in seconds. 

Of the other two, I prefer the fish pollichathu, wrapped in spices and steamed in a banana leaf, served with coconut rice. This is no fault of the naranga chicken’s (orange-glazed, grilled). We are simply too stuffed. 

Their dessert selection’s an extension of the South Indian, coastal theme: filter coffee ice cream, coconut snow – both these are fairly straightforward. I feel the former could’ve done with a more wholehearted mouthfeel, though the coconut snow (ice cream topped with crumble) is perfectly adequate.

The unexpected showstopper of the night might be the chocolate chilli cheesecake. A rich slice of chocolate indulgence doused in ganache. It tastes regular, rich, at first. It leaves your mouth stinging seconds later. I have to be coaxed out of licking the plate – quite literally…